


Learning to Fly

by renaissance



Series: you might belong in hufflepuff [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Prejudice, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: “Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”— Draco Malfoy, July 31st, 1991





	Learning to Fly

There, at the long, venerable Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle were saving Draco a seat in between them. They took up enough space to frighten off anyone who tried to go near them. The very sight of them was reassuring. Draco liked being able to rely on people. Family friends from birth—and now something more like servants, at his every beck and call. Although in a way, they were his friends too. They were surrounded by family friends and new friends alike, people Draco would come to call his housemates.

But first, he had to be Sorted.

He was very prepared for Sorting. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he’d already read _Hogwarts: A History_ just to make sure. Coming from a family like his, you were meant to know the ropes already, but Draco was an only child and didn’t have the benefit of up-to-date hand-me-down knowledge that those with siblings had. He was keenly aware of this. He wouldn’t let it get in his way.

In front of a hall full of students, Draco sat down on a stool as the Hat was placed on his head. Frankly, he thought it was a little humiliating that they had to go through it in front of everyone. There was no need to make a spectacle of it like this. He got so _bored_ sitting through all the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

“Now what do we have here,” the Sorting Hat said. “Another Malfoy.”

 _That’s right_ , Draco thought proudly. He knew you couldn’t talk to the Sorting Hat directly, but that it would interpret your thoughts. _So just put me in Slytherin already_.

“Hmm. You certainly are ambitious,” the Hat continued, ignoring Draco’s plea for expediency. “There’s determination in you, too. And a strong sense of loyalty.”

Draco’s mouth twisted into a frown, although no-one could’ve seen it under the floppy brim of the Hat. _This is all irrelevant_ ,  he thought aggressively at the Hat. _I belong in Slytherin. Put me there right now!_

The Hat laughed. “You’ve got a bit of a nasty streak, young man! We’d better nip that in the bud.”

“No,” Draco said aloud, “what are you talking about, you can’t—”

“It’s just what you need,” the Sorting Hat said. “You’ll do well in _HUFFLEPUFF!_ ”

There were a few cheers from the direction of the Hufflepuff table, but they died down seconds later—someone must have told them what a mistake had just been made.

“YOU’RE WRONG!” Draco shouted, getting to his feet and flinging the Hat off his head. It skittered across the floor, and for good measure he kicked the stool down, too. Balling his hands into fists, he stalked away from the front of the Great Hall and down the corridor right in the middle, between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. He only looked back to add, “My father will hear about this!”

No-one tried to stop him as he walked away, which was good. No-one _could_ stop him. He was leaving. The doors at the back of the Great Hall beckoned, and Draco Malfoy was going home.

He stepped out into the grand Entrance Hall, and the doors closed behind him with a satisfying _thunk_. Just minutes ago, Professor McGonagall had them all stood here, briefing them on how the Sorting would work. And now, it was all over. Draco couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed, but if the Hat had decided he would be in Hufflepuff, then this was for the best.

Before he could make it to the front entrance, though, a hand gripped the scruff of his robes and dragged him backwards.

“And just _where_ do you think you’re going?”

“ _Snape_ ,” Draco spat. He’d seen the man around, of course, at his father’s get-togethers, hovering in the corners like he wasn’t quite sure why he’d been invited. Right now, Draco felt no sympathy for him.

“That’s _Professor_ Snape while you’re a student here,” he said.

Draco scowled. “I’m not a student here anymore,” he said. “I tried it, I didn’t like it. Now I’m leaving.”

“And how exactly do you think you’ll learn to be a powerful wizard like your father without a world class schooling?” Snape asked, scathing.

“I’ll teach myself,” Draco said, nodding to himself. “Or father will teach me.”

Snape laughed unpleasantly. “Your father is a busy man. Don’t assume he’d have time for you.”

It was a little like being slapped in the face. But it was a lie, obviously. Draco’s father would always make time for his sole heir. Draco wasn’t stupid—he knew what it meant that there were no other Malfoy children. Everything was on his shoulders. So it stood to reason that he’d learn to be the head of the house in an environment conducive to it. Like Malfoy Manor.

“He will make time,” Draco declared. “Now let me leave.”

Unfortunately, Snape was still holding Draco by the robes. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, “except back into the Great Hall to sit at the Hufflepuff table with the other first years.”

“Can’t you say anything to Dumbledore?” Draco demanded, changing tack. “Get him to fix it.”

Snape grimaced. “As little sense as it might make, Sorting is final.”

Draco didn’t like the sound of that, so he shook off Snape, making for the door. He was stalled, though, collapsing suddenly and falling to the floor as Snape called out a word. It was a wonder Draco’s wand didn’t snap in half, sliding around in his pocket.

“Now,” Snape said, “will you follow me, or will you force me to humiliate you by dragging you into the Great Hall under the effects of a Body Bind Curse?”

“If you let me go,” Draco warned him, “I will leave.”

So it was to be humiliation, then. He couldn’t move until Snape dropped him bodily onto a bench at the Hufflepuff table. Every single pair of eyes was trained on him, but Draco didn’t care. He _wanted_ everyone to know what an injustice this was. He _wanted_ them to know that he was suffering.

Snape had sat him in between two students, both of whom steadfastly ignored him for the course of the meal. Draco wasn’t planning on eating, anyway. He folded his arms over his chest and stared at his empty plate like it had personally wronged him.

After dinner, an older student called out, “Hufflepuff first years with me!”

Draco stayed exactly where he was, letting the table filter out around him. He would sooner sleep at the table than in a Hufflepuff dormitory. Maybe he’d sleep at the Slytherin table. That’d show them. He was just settling down to spend the night when someone jabbed him in the back.

Standing behind him was a redheaded girl with an impossibly long plait. If Draco didn’t know better, he might’ve guessed she was a Weasley.

“He said Hufflepuff first years,” she said. She was trying to look brave, but her voice wavered a little. “That means you too.”

“I’m not coming,” Draco said.

The Prefect who had called out earlier appeared beside the girl. “Draco, isn’t it?” he asked. “I’m Gabriel, one of your Prefects.”

Draco did not dignify him with an answer.

“Well, Draco,” he continued, “I understand that this isn’t where you wanted to end up, but part of being a Hufflepuff is resilience, and weathering the storm of anything life can throw at you. Another part of being a Hufflepuff is being accepted whoever you are, and being looked after—and I think you’ll find our dormitories are _much_ more comfortable than what they have in Slytherin.”

“You wouldn’t know, would you?” Draco said. “You’re in _Hufflepuff_.”

Gabriel laughed. “It’s not against the law to have friends in other houses, you know.”

Draco was going to respond, opening his mouth with a retort, but his stomach cut him off, grumbling loudly.

“And we’re right next to the kitchens,” Gabriel added.

Draco had read that there were house-elves in the Hogwarts kitchens. They would do whatever he asked. He got to his feet without a word, if only so he’d find the way to the kitchens. That, and he realised that his bags would be there. He’d have to pick them up. He would need all his textbooks for his homeschooling.

The girl fell into step with him as he walked. “I’m Susan Bones,” she said.

“That’s nice,” Draco said. That shut her up.

Outside the common room, there were a series of barrels. Gabriel explained that you had to tap one of the barrels in the rhythm of something-or-other—Draco didn’t pay attention. He wouldn’t need it. He’d go into his dormitory and fetch his bags, and sneak out via the kitchens when everyone was asleep. Which would probably be soon, because Hufflepuffs weren’t fun enough to stay up late.

There were five beds in the dormitory. They looked like very nice beds—four-posters with curtains, wide and covered in cushions. What a pity one of them would go unused.

“Do excuse me,” said one of the boys, cutting off Draco’s path to the bed with his suitcase in front of it, “but might you be able to explain something to me?”

“What?” Draco snapped.

“Why exactly don’t you want to be here?” the boy asked. “I was under the impression that this is simply the finest magical institution in the _world_. Of course, I’m not from a magical background, so I—”

“Don’t tell him that!” one of the other boys shouted. He cut in front of the first boy and put his hands on his hips. “People like him don’t like people like you.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What would you know about _people like me_?”

“Ernie Macmillan,” the second boy introduced himself, “ninth generation Hufflepuff.” He was short and plump, but he had a look of steely determination and pride in his eyes. Draco had heard the name Macmillan—they weren’t blood traitors like the Weasleys, but they were Scottish, and so they would never be as dignified as the Malfoys or the Notts, any of the old English families.

“Well, don’t bother getting to know people like me,” Draco said, “because I’ll be leaving soon.”

Another boy, already sitting cross-legged on his bed, chimed in. “Are they kicking you out for being such a brat?” He had a Welsh accent. Draco hated him instantly.

“I am _leaving_ ,” Draco said, “because there has been a mistake. I was meant to be Sorted into Slytherin, but the Hat made a mistake. So I’m going home to learn magic on my own.”

“That’s a very stupid idea,” Ernie said.

“It’s reassuring,” the first boy said in a prim, innocent voice, “that coming from a magical family doesn’t necessarily make one any smarter.”

Draco looked to Ernie. “Do you see what I mean? I can’t stay in a dorm with a mudblood.”

He expected Ernie to try to console him, but instead Ernie barrelled forwards, and with his palms flat he shoved Draco in the chest. Draco stumbled backwards, enraged. Ernie was hefty, so he could probably pack a punch, and he made Draco feel very small as he staggered to stand up straight again.

“I don’t want to get into trouble for fighting,” Ernie said, “but if you use that word again, I will hit you properly.”

“Maybe then you’ll both be expelled,” the Welsh boy said.

“I won’t stand for it!” Draco said. “How dare you treat me like this? Do you know who I am?”

“Everyone is equal in Hufflepuff,” Ernie said, like it was something to be _proud_ of.

Just then, the fifth boy in the room spoke up. He had drawn the curtains on his bed without any of them noticing, and now he poked his head out. “My god,” he said, “you are all equally annoying. Can we equally shut the bloody hell up, so I can get some rest?”

“Don’t worry,” Draco said, “I was just on my way out.”

Pushing past Ernie and the mudblood, Draco grabbed his suitcase and hauled it towards the door. He had never carried his own suitcase before; usually they had a house-elf do it, or his father levitated it for him. But the hardest part was making it through the common room—frustratingly, although lots of the older Hufflepuffs turned to watch, none of them tried to stop him. A few of them even laughed. Well, let them laugh. Draco would have the last laugh.

He made his way down to the kitchen by following the smell—it was warm and promised familiarity, and it got him the closest he’d felt to _happy_ since he was Sorted. Except, when he got as close as he could to the smell, there was no door, just a painting of a bowl of fruit. Draco glared at it, tried talking, tried reasoning with it, but the bowl of fruit was stubbornly immobile. He even tried kicking the wall. Nothing.

With no food and nowhere to go, he considered trying to find the Slytherin dorms. If he snuck in, maybe he could pretend that he’d been there all along. But it was late, and he was getting tired, so he dragged his suitcase all the way back to the Hufflepuff common room. He would at least have a comfortable bed for one night—

—but he didn’t remember anything Gabriel had told them about how to get in, except that if you got it wrong, you’d get doused with vinegar.

Draco propped his suitcase up against a wall and rested his back to it, and within seconds he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

On his first full day in Hufflepuff, Draco unfortunately got to know the names of his temporary roommates. The mudblood was Justin Finch-Fletchley, who seemed to be from a family of comparable wealth to the Malfoys, but being a glorified Muggle he was utterly clueless about everything. Part of Draco wanted to teach him. He suppressed that urge in favour of the distaste he was more comfortable with feeling.

The Welsh boy was called Wayne Hopkins, and he was also a mudblood, as Draco discovered. He had this strange distrust of the magical world, like he wasn’t entirely convinced it existed, but he seemed quite inoffensive otherwise, easy to ignore. And the other boy was Zacharias Smith, who was infuriatingly cagey about his blood status, but seemed to know the ropes. Draco rather admired the way Zacharias unconditionally hated absolutely everyone and everything he encountered, but it wasn’t enough to get him to attempt friendship. After all, he wouldn’t be around for much longer.

That morning, Draco had been awoken by the sound of Wayne and Zacharias laughing at him, and he had explained to them that he was boycotting the Hufflepuff common room until he could either be Sorted again or leave.

He was starving, though, so he decided that boycotting breakfast was not a good idea. He sat alone at the end of the Slytherin table and penned a letter to his father explaining his predicament. No-one would talk to him, not even Crabbe and Goyle. No-one would look at him.

Their very first class of the day was Herbology, with the Gryffindors. It was taken by Hufflepuff’s Head of House, too. It was like everything Draco loathed in one place. He almost didn’t go, but his reasonable side took over, and he realised that if he was going to be homeschooled, he’d need all the experience from Hogwarts he could get.

It didn’t help, though, that Harry Potter chose to sit down right across from him. Potter was sitting with the same Weasley that Draco had seen him with on the train, and they kept shooting smug glances at Draco. He busied himself with his work and finished it quickly so that maybe Professor Sprout would let him leave, but she was obnoxiously chuffed at how well he’d done and lavished him with extravagant praise. Potter and Weasley sniggered at him, and Draco felt his cheeks heat up.

After class, Susan Bones caught up with him.

“What do you want?” Draco snapped.

He expected Susan to flinch back as she’d done the day before, but this time she just laughed. “You’re so intent on being an outcast,” she said. “Don’t you want friends?”

“Not in Hufflepuff,” Draco said. “Don’t waste your time. I’ll be leaving soon.”

“Oh, is that right?” Susan asked. “Have you spoken to Professor Dumbledore about it?”

“I don’t need anyone’s permission,” Draco said.

Susan laughed again. “I suppose that’s true. But think about it reasonably, Draco—”

“Don’t talk to me like you know me.”

“—this is the best possible education you can get, in all of Britain,” Susan continued, undaunted. “If you leave now, you won’t have any of the skills the rest of us have, so you won’t be able get home from wherever we are. Hogwarts is unplottable, you know.”

Yes, Draco had read it in _Hogwarts: A History_.

“You didn’t think Dumbledore would just drop you at the station, did you?”

Draco didn’t know. He didn’t know what he’d thought. Susan was annoying, but she had helped him realise something: he couldn’t leave without a proper plan.

 

* * *

 

There had been no reply from his father, although Draco had continued to send letters. But at last, something to make his miserable stay at Hogwarts bearable—flying lessons. Of course, Draco already knew how to fly, but it felt like years since he’d last mounted a broom, and so he looked forward to the upcoming flying lesson with an obsessive zeal. More importantly, he finally had his plan of attack. Once he was on a broom, he could go anywhere. He could _leave_.

He packed his suitcase the night before and dragged it out to the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest, so he could pick it up on his way. It might’ve been too heavy to fly with if he hadn’t got so good at _Wingardium Leviosa_. Although he hadn’t so much been participating in classes, he had taken care that he understood everything, and practiced while his dorm was empty. He was very good at wandwork. That would be handy once he was back at Malfoy Manor.

Susan caught up with Draco on his way to the Quidditch pitch. She had developed an annoying habit of hanging around him—he supposed it could be worse; she could be a mudblood.

“Gosh, Draco, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you looked happy.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I’m already good at flying,” he said. “This class will be a breeze.”

“I hope it’s not too breezy,” Susan said, smirking. “We don’t want to get blown off course.”

“Very funny,” Draco said. With any luck, he’d be blown as far away from Hogwarts as possible. He scowled, and walked ahead.

They were lined up in front of a row of brooms for the lesson, all of the first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Draco stood right at the end so he’d only have one person by his side. This seemed like an excellent plan until Zacharias Smith came and stood next to him. It wasn’t that Draco didn’t like him—he was still thinking about that one—but Zacharias got on Draco’s nerves, and Draco wasn’t in the mood for a distraction.

“Waste of time, this,” Zacharias said. He stretched his arms out in front of him and cracked his knuckles. “Rather be sleeping.”

Draco felt a frown coming on. He would not be goaded into this.

“Don’t know what there is to teach, anyway,” Zacharias continued. “I mean, how hard can it be to just get on a broom and—”

“You simpleton!” Draco turned to glower up at him. “Flying takes skill. Not just anyone can get on a broom. You’re either born with it or you’re not.”

“That sounds made up,” Zacharias said.

“Well, it isn’t,” Draco insisted. “Look.” He held his hand over the broom in front of him, just the way his father had showed him when he was five. “I command you to fly for me!”

The broom shuddered, then snapped off the ground and into his hand. Draco caught it with a satisfying clap, and the flying teacher’s voice boomed down the pitch. “I see Mister Malfoy is working ahead of the class.”

Draco gave Zacharias a satisfied look, as if to say, _See?_ He hoped that the teacher—Scooch? Mooch?—would ask him to demonstrate further. She walked down the line towards him, hands on her hips.

“Madam Scooch,” Draco said, addressing her with a respectful upward tilt of his chin. “I’m already good at flying.”

“It’s Hooch,” she said. Her expression darkened. “No matter how much experience you have, there’s still plenty to be learnt. Now, put your broom down so everyone else can catch up.”

Draco did not put down his broom. Thankfully, Madam Hooch turned her back and started to walk away, so she wouldn’t notice. She instructed the other first years to say “up” to their brooms, which, in Draco’s considered opinion, was not as effective as telling it specifically to fly for you. Still, he watched as Zacharias’ broom flew into his hand, and on his other side, Ernie was struggling to get his off the ground.

“It must be shonky,” Ernie said, staring sullenly down at the broom.

“Maybe you’re shonky,” Zacharias said. As he spoke, he twirled his broom around on the spot. He seemed to be getting the hang of it, which annoyed Draco.

“Now mount your brooms gently,” Madam Hooch instructed. “Try to keep at least one foot on the ground at all times.”

This was too easy. Draco had mounted his broom within seconds, and didn’t bother keeping his feet on the ground at all. He hovered a little, drifting side to side in anticipation.

“Didn’t you hear?” Ernie said, shielding his eyes from the sun and peering up at Draco. “Madam Hooch said not to fly let our feet leave the ground.”

“You’re from a pureblood family too,” Draco said. “Didn’t they teach you to fly? This is boring.”

“That’s what I said,” Zacharias mumbled. “Waste of time.”

Draco turned to him. “Have _you_ flown before?”

Zacharias shrugged.

Frustrated, Draco turned his attention back to the task at hand: he was trying to escape. A quick glance down the line of brooms told him that Madam Hooch was occupied at the far end, with a Ravenclaw who’d somehow managed to turn himself upside-down, clinging perilously to his broom.

Draco gave Zacharias and Ernie a wicked grin. “Watch this.”

He kicked off and shot into the air—this was it, this was freedom, at last. The wind whipped through his hair as he left his flying class behind, and he closed his eyes, just for a moment, letting himself luxuriate in the sensation. He was going further and further up, and soon he’d be able to see the border of the Forbidden Forest, where he’d left his suitcase. And then he’d be away from Hogwarts, away from all these stupid people who he couldn’t stand—

“This is pretty fun.”

At the sound of another voice, Draco snapped his neck around. It was Zacharias Smith, flying up beside him like he’d been born on a broom.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to get so high,” Zacharias added.

Draco gaped at him. “What are you doing?”

“Aren’t we racing?” Zacharias asked.

“No,” Draco said, “I’m running away!”

Zacharias seemed to think about this for a moment. “Well, you aren’t very good at it, are you?”

Furious, Draco sped up. He’d show Zacharias just how good he was, how well a real wizard could fly. He even did a loop to prove it—but he was high now, higher than he’d ever flown before. He looked over his shoulder to see Zacharias still on his tail, so he went faster, over the edge of the Quidditch pitch, out into open air above the lawns, the lake.

Up ahead he saw the Whomping Willow. His father had warned him about it—a tree which attacked anyone who came near. Draco had thought it was a very silly idea for a tree. What was the point if you couldn’t sit under its shade?

He swerved to avoid it, and caught sight of a blur following him.

“Smith, stop following me!”

“You don’t want to race?” Zacharias said. “I’d say you’re better at racing than running away. You’re winning, after all.”

“No, I don’t want to—”

Then suddenly Madam Hooch was in front of him, and she was fuming. How had she got there so fast? She didn’t even believe in commanding your broom to fly for you. On the ground, Draco had thought he might’ve been the superior flier… now he wasn’t so sure.

“Malfoy, Smith!” she shouted. “Come down at once, or I will be forced to use magic on you!”

Draco heard Zacharias say, “Alright, alright.” That was one obstacle out of the way. Now for Hooch. He wouldn’t attempt to out-fly her; he didn’t think that would be very wise. He didn’t want her to stun him, or anything like that. He could just see his suitcase at the edge of the forest, but Hooch was directly in his way. How much did Draco need his suitcase, anyway? He glanced back over his shoulder. Maybe if he was hurt badly enough, they’d send him to St. Mungo’s to recover, and from there he could sneak out, go home…

He turned and flew straight for the Whomping Willow.

 

* * *

 

Draco was not sent to St. Mungo’s. He wasn’t even sent to the Hospital Wing. Madam Hooch had stunned him before he even made it to the tree, and he came to, unharmed, in Professor Sprout’s office. Zacharias was there too. This was it, Draco thought. He was going to be expelled.

“Ah, Draco, welcome back,” Professor Sprout said.

He sat up straight, eagerly awaiting his punishment.

If anything, Professor Sprout simply looked amused. “Madam Hooch was very impressed with your flying,” she said, “if not with your obedience. Coconut ice?”

Draco stared at the proffered box of sweets. Zacharias’ hand came into his vision and plucked one from the box, then withdrew. Eventually, he said, “No, thank you.”

This did not bother Professor Sprout. “Can I ask what inspired you to take off ahead of the rest of your class?”

“I thought he was trying to start something,” Zacharias said. Clearly she hadn’t spoken to him before Draco woke up.

“Something?”

“You know,” Zacharias said, waving a hand, “a fight.”

“I was trying to leave!” Draco said. “Please, Professor Sprout, will you just expel me?”

She did not respond sensibly. She did not respond at all—she burst into laughter. Even Zacharias snickered to himself.

“This isn’t a laughing matter,” Draco said, “I’m being serious. I was meant to be in Slytherin, but there was a mistake, and I need to leave so I can be homeschooled.”

Professor Sprout wiped a tear from her eye. “That’s very admirable, Draco, but if I suggested your expulsion to the Headmaster then he would have to expel Zacharias too, and I don’t think he’d like that very much.”

“I would not,” Zacharias said.

“ _Please_ , Professor,” Draco said. He was not above begging. “It was only me, I swear. Smith had nothing to do with it.”

Sighing, Professor Sprout got to her feet. “I’m sorry, Draco. I understand that it can be hard to be so separated from your friends. Hufflepuffs are welcoming people, though, and we’re here to make sure that feeling goes away. I promise it will. But you have to give it time.”

“I don’t _want_ to give it time,” Draco said petulantly. “I want to go home.”

“I have to give you both detention,” Professor Sprout said. “You’ll be helping Filch with some cleaning every night for two weeks. I hope not to see any more races from now on.”

Draco caught Zacharias rolling his eyes, although he didn’t think the Professor did. But they both agreed to it—what choice did they have? Zacharias skulked out of the office; Professor Sprout kept Draco behind.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now,” she said, “but in a few years, people like Zacharias will be your second family. You should head back to your dorm and apologise to your roommates for ruining their flying lesson.”

Apologising was the last thing Draco needed to do. He nodded anyway. The sooner he was out of here, the sooner he could start thinking of a new way to escape.

“Oh, and Draco? Your suitcase is by the door. Some keen-eyed fifth years found it out near the Forbidden Forest.” Professor Sprout fought a smile. “Do you have any idea how it got there?”

Draco glared at her. “I’m leaving, Professor.”

“Alright,” she said merrily, “I’ll see you in Herbology tomorrow!”

When he got out, suitcase in tow, Draco found Zacharias waiting for him. “Are you here to laugh at me?”

“I can laugh at you any time,” Zacharias said. “Didn’t want to walk back alone.”

“I’m not here for your charity,” Draco said. “In fact, I won’t be here at all, soon.”

“So you’re really leaving?”

Draco straightened his shoulders, as straight as they could go while he had a heavy suitcase weighing him down. “Of course. It’s your fault I didn’t get away with it today. I could have been halfway home by now.”

“Sorry,” Zacharias said. “I’ll be wiser next time.”

They came to a pause, waiting for the staircases to align. “Next time?”

“I can help you escape,” Zacharias said. He jumped onto the staircase before it was quite in place. “It sounds like fun.”

It would help to have someone on his side. Draco was oddly touched. “You would do that for me?”

“I’m not offering because I like you,” Zacharias said. “If anything, I’d be happy to see the last of you.”

Well. It was better than nothing. “Alright,” Draco said. “You can help me. If you promise not to mess up again.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Zacharias said.

They shared a grin.

 

* * *

 

“You said you wanted to help.”

Zacharias looked up from his homework. “Can it wait until we don’t have a Potions essay due?”

“No, it has to be now,” Draco said, sitting down. He would never admit it, but the chairs in the Hufflepuff common room were incredibly comfortable. He’d be happy to stay here to plan his escape if the chance of being overheard weren’t so great. “Aren’t you Hufflepuffs meant to be loyal? I’m pretty sure that means keeping promises.”

“Maybe I should get you to promise me something in return,” Zacharias said, tapping the end of his quill against his chin and looking at the ceiling, “since you’re also a—”

“Oh, don’t say it. Take your essay with. We need to go somewhere else to plan. I don’t want anyone overhearing this.”

“If you insist,” Zacharias said.

He gathered up his things while Draco shifted impatiently from foot-to-foot, and eventually let Draco lead the way. Their detentions were finally over, but Draco had still timed it so that they left well before curfew. Just in case. They found an empty classroom and Zacharias set up at a desk with his essay, Draco with his shoulder bag. He dropped it on the table with a satisfying _thunk_ and began to pull out the books he’d borrowed from the library.

Zacharias stared at him. “I thought you weren’t studying.”

It was true that Draco had thus far neglected all of his homework—and once he realised that it wasn’t actually much fun being in detention all the time and it wouldn’t get him expelled, he’d started putting in the minimum effort possible—but this was different. Before him, he laid out _Hogwarts: A History_ , _Practical Evasive Charms_ , and _Bells and Whistles: An Encyclopaedia of Loud and Smelly Magic_.

“This is for my next try at escaping,” Draco explained. It had to be escape—his father still hadn’t responded to any of his letters. “Halloween is coming up, and I overheard that there’s going to be a feast, which is the perfect cover. Just to be sure, I’ve been reading up on distracting spells I can use to make sure everyone is paying attention to something else.”

“And the evasive charms are for escaping,” Zacharias said, nodding. “And _Hogwarts: A History_?”

Draco smirked. This was his favourite part of the plan. “It would be easiest for me to leave out the front gates, but it’s probably guarded or something, so I thought I had better find out if there were any secret passages out of the castle.”

“Seems like you’ve got everything worked out. What do you need me for?”

“I need someone to read _Hogwarts: A History_ and see if my hunch is right,” Draco said. He’d skipped the relevant chapters on his first read. Hadn’t thought he’d need it. “And, I have to practice some really advanced spells, so I want someone else around in case anything goes wrong.”

“So I’m just your lackey,” Zacharias said, but he took _Hogwarts: A History_ and scanned the table of contents before flicking ahead to a chapter entitled _Architectural Secrets_ and alternating between reading and working on his essay.

Draco set to work on the Disillusionment charm. If he could pull it off, it would make him effectively invisible, although he wasn’t sure if that would help in concealing his suitcase. He couldn’t leave it at the edge of the Forbidden Forest again, though, as that hadn’t worked last time. His Levitating charms weren’t too shabby; the only question, then, was how someone would react to a floating suitcase. One thing at a time.

Leaving would be worth it, but… Draco was almost a little sad that he’d be missing the Halloween feast. When he said he’d overheard someone talking about the feast, he really meant he’d read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_ , and he had seen pictures in his mother’s old photo albums—she happily pretended that Draco didn’t know exactly where to find them—of tables laden with food and extravagant decorations, people running between the tables and laughing.

“Oh, I meant to ask,” Zacharias said, “why do you hate Hogwarts so much that you want to leave?”

Draco gaped. “Do you know who I am?”

“Bit of a tosser. Why do you ask?”

“It’s not that I hate Hogwarts, I just—” Draco shook his head, frustrated. “My whole family are Slytherins. They’ve been in Slytherin since Slytherin started existing. I was supposed to be sorted into Slytherin too. I don’t know what went wrong, but I don’t belong in Hufflepuff. The Hat was wrong.”

“The Hat’s never wrong,” Zacharias said. “I reckoned I was smart enough for Ravenclaw, but apparently not. I don’t really mind being one of ‘the rest.’”

“It’s not just the rest,” Draco said, “it’s all these abhorrent values like _hard work_ and _loyalty_. Well, who cares about any of that?”

Zacharias stared him for a good few seconds before saying, “Wow, you really are a git.”

“You’ll still help me, though, won’t you?” Draco hated how desperate he sounded, but Zacharias was all he had.

“I’m hard-working and loyal,” Zacharias sing-songed. Deadpan, he added, “So yes, I’ll still help you.”

If Draco had any of his brain to devote to anything other than his escape plan, he might have recognised that he’d just made his first friend. Not a family friend, and certainly not a lackey—but he was too busy going over the Disillusionment charm and thinking about how best he might steal a glimpse of the feast without being detected and forced to join in the celebrations.

 

* * *

 

Draco crouched behind a chair in the Hufflepuff common room, waiting for it to empty out. Everyone was leaving for the Halloween feast, and soon he would finally be leaving for good. The Hufflepuffs were a lackadaisical lot, lingering and chatting and giving Draco sore knees from crouching for so long. But he had to wait. He couldn’t afford to mess up a second time.

The other problem with Hufflepuffs was that they were so persistent. Susan found Draco behind the chair and grinned down at him. “Hiding, are we?”

“Go away. I’m not going to the feast.”

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” she said, grabbing his forearm. “Come on.”

Before Draco could so much as tell her to let go of him, she had pulled him to his feet. Draco didn’t have time to wonder how she got so strong—Ernie, Justin, and one of the girls had appeared behind her, with very purposeful sets to their faces.

“What’s going on?” Draco demanded.

“It’s an intervention,” Ernie said. “I’m still mad at you for calling Justin _that word_ , but we all agreed that you spend too much time on your own. We’re your housemates, and perhaps…”

“We thought we might be your friends, too,” the girl said. Draco didn’t know her name.

Justin looked at him expectantly. “You will sit with us at the feast, won’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” Draco said, but Susan still had him by the arm, and she yanked him out of the common room and down the corridor.

 _Friends_. Who did they think they were? Draco wasn’t even meant to be their housemate. And where was Zacharias? He was meant to be helping Draco, acting as his look-out, stopping exactly this sort of nonsense from happening.

Draco changed his tune a little when he saw the Great Hall. It was every bit as captivating as he had imagined it, low lighting and bats and pumpkins and a feast fit for purebloods. It did something funny to his chest; he wished he could be enjoying this from the security of the Slytherin table. Instead he had Susan, and now Ernie, physically dragging him to the Hufflepuff table, sitting down either side of him, heaping food onto his plate. He had wanted a glimpse of it—though not like this.

He stayed as long as he could bear it, but if anything his housemates’ desperate attempts to befriend him only served to alienate him further. There would be none of this back at Malfoy Manor. There was a lull in the conversation and Draco latched onto it, clambering off the bench.

Susan noticed, because of course she did. “Leaving so soon?”

“Just,” Draco said, “wanted to get some food from over there.”

“See you soon, friend,” Ernie said, giving him an utterly cloying smile.

Cringing, Draco walked faster. He needed to leave before these people spent any longer pretending they cared about him, or worse—that he cared about them.

Draco headed down the table to where Zacharias was sitting with Wayne and another one of the girls. If all went well, Draco wouldn’t need to learn any of their names, not even to keep up appearances. He shook Zacharias by the shoulder.

“Come on. We’re going.”

“Are we?” Zacharias said, but he stood up anyway.

Once they were far enough away, Draco hissed, “Why weren’t you waiting for me in the common room?”

“I came down the stairs and saw you leaving with the others.”

“They _kidnapped_ me,” Draco said furiously. “You’re supposed to be helping me!”

“No,” Zacharias said, “I’m supposed to be your lackey.”

“And you’re doing a rubbish job of it.”

Just beyond the Great Hall and on the way to the dungeons, they crossed paths with Professor Whatsit who taught Defence. Stupid subject, Draco’s father always said, they should just make it Dark Arts and be done with it. The Professor was useless, anyway, and now he was running like a decapitated chicken. He didn’t seem to notice that Draco and Zacharias were there.

They paused, glancing at each other and back at the Professor.

“Think we should follow him?” Zacharias asked.

“It’s none of our business,” Draco said. “We can’t afford to get distracted.”

But then there was a roar from the Great Hall, the whole of Hogwarts getting up at once and shrieking, the teachers trying to be heard over the clamour. Zacharias craned his neck, as if that would get him any closer.

“Come _on_ ,” Draco said; Zacharias didn’t budge.

There were footsteps coming towards them, a few people breaking off from whatever was going on and heading right their way. Draco grabbed Zacharias and tried to pull him around a corner and out of sight, but he wasn’t fast enough.

It was Potter and Weasley. They came to a halt, staring at Draco and Zacharias. Draco stared back. The last thing he wanted was the famous Harry Potter ruining all his plans.

“Alright,” Potter said.

“Alright,” Zacharias said. He was taller than the lot of them, and very impressively looked down his nose to add, “Piss off, then.”

“Yeah, no worries.” Potter was the shortest. Not so big now, was he? “Just thought you should know there’s—”

“There’s a troll in the dungeon,” Weasley blurted.

Potter gestured to his left. “Down that way. Maybe.”

Away from the Hufflepuff common room, thank Merlin. With all the distraction of a troll—oh, Draco’s father would have a lot to say on that, a troll getting into the school? How lax could they be?—there would be no way anyone would be paying enough attention to stop Draco from making his glorious escape. And thank Merlin he was leaving!

“We’re, uh,” Potter said, and he and Weasley ran off in the direction he had pointed.

“Bloody Gryffindors probably think they can fight the troll all by themselves,” Zacharias said, a little louder than he necessarily needed to. Draco appreciated the thought behind it, but they could not afford to get caught out.

No such luck. There were more people coming their way, and by the sound of the low conversation, they were teachers.

“We need to hide,” Draco whispered. “If we run, they’ll—”

He turned, and Zacharias had already run. Draco couldn’t have said where. He’d scarpered, and he’d thrown Draco to the wolves. The wolves, in this situation, were Professors McGonagall and Snape, creatures on the prowl for danger and finding prey instead. Draco forgot all the spells he’d been working on and tried to back away, only to come up against a wall.

“Well, well,” Snape said, “what do we have here?”

 

* * *

 

Eating breakfast the morning after his failed attempt at escape was a particular form of humiliation that Draco had never hoped to experience. Not that too many people knew what happened, but the _teachers_ knew, and Draco was only glad he couldn’t see the looks on their faces as he trudged into the Great Hall.

Draco had become accustomed to eating breakfast in sullen silence. He avoided Zacharias and sat at the far end of the table, picking at his food. He had no appetite. The owls came clattering in with the morning mail and Draco slouched lower on the bench. His parents hadn’t written once since he’d been sorted into Hufflepuff, hadn’t responded to any of his letters. There was never any post for him.

Except today, there was.

He recognised his father’s owl as it was swooping away, having dropped a slim envelope right in front of his plate. Draco immediately lost the capacity to feel shame—he snatched up the envelope and ripped into it hungrily. He read the letter, once, twice, over and again until he had memorised it well enough to distract from the stinging at the corners of his eyes.

 _Draco_ , it read, _It has brought great shame to the family to hear of your repeated rule-breaking at Hogwarts. Your mother and I were willing to accept that you were sorted into a house other than Slytherin, but we are less pleased to see that it has led to such errant behaviour. I ask that you stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas period to think about your future as a Malfoy and how your actions reflect on your family._

His fingers shaking, Draco folded the letter in half and half again, and slipped it in the pocket of his robes. It could’ve been worse, he told himself. It could’ve been much worse. His father had written to him. He’d written to Draco, and that was enough.

When he looked up again, there were no tears in his eyes, and Zacharias was sitting across from him.

“Turns out,” Zacharias said, “you’re better company than Ernie, Wayne, and Justin put together. Want to go throw rocks at Gryffindors? There’s a spot behind this tree where you can get anyone passing and they won’t see you—”

“Smith,” Draco snapped. Not even throwing rocks at Gryffindors could cheer him up now.

“—and then we can sign up to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. You’ll be staying, won’t you?”

“Of course I bloody well won’t! I’m going home and I’m never coming back.”

“Oh.” Zacharias frowned at him. “I thought you wouldn’t try again after last night.”

“No, I’m going home. You can’t change my mind just by telling me I’m good company. I already know that.”

Lips pursed, Zacharias nodded. “Sorry about ditching you last night.”

“Forget about it,” Draco said, even though he was absolutely not ready to forget about it. He was considering holding this grudge for life. Two years absolute minimum.

Zacharias held his hand out across the table. “Friends?”

Well, maybe one year. Several months. Until the end of term—provided Draco hadn’t escaped by then.

 

* * *

 

By the end of term, Draco was too busy in detention to try to escape, so he settled for leaving on the Hogwarts Express, returning to Malfoy Manor, and never going back. He had written ahead to inform his father that he would be coming home for the holidays; there had been no reply, yet, but Draco understood that his father was a very busy man. That couldn’t be helped.

Although no-one from Slytherin would sit with Draco on the train, the compartment where he had staked out a corner just for himself soon filled up with Hufflepuffs and, to Draco’s consternation, a handful of Gryffindors too, who had all decided that they were going to ignore his presence like the elephant in the room. And since Zacharias was staying at Hogwarts, there wasn’t even anyone Draco could talk to.

Well, let them talk, he thought. Soon he would be back home and he’d be alone with his parents for the whole Christmas break. It wasn’t a long break, but it would be enough. For those two weeks, he could pretend he wasn’t in _that house_ , that he wasn’t at Hogwarts at all—that he was just Draco Malfoy, no baggage attached. The excitement was enough to keep him going, staring out the window and ignoring whatever direction the conversation was going in now. It kept him going onto the platform too, and through the barrier, where he looked through the crowd for his father’s tall figure and distinctive hair, but—

“Oh, he’s not here yet.”

“Your dad?”

It was Susan, popping up in the midst of the crowd. “Don’t do that,” Draco said.

“Do what?” Susan asked.

“Appear out of nowhere.” Draco glowered at her. “We don’t learn Apparition until sixth year.”

“Look at you, playing by the rules,” Susan said. “Such a Hufflepuff.”

“Would it kill you to shut up?”

“Yep. Hey, what are you going to do if your dad doesn’t show?”

It was a good question. Draco had never considered that would actually happen. His father had threatened it, but—

“He’s probably sent a house-elf,” Draco said confidently.

He mustn’t have sounded confident, though, because Susan picked up on his uncertainty. “Draco… are you going to be welcome at home, these holidays?”

“I don’t see why I wouldn’t be,” he said, neglecting to mention the letter from his father. “Where I was sorted—it’s a mistake. They’ll work it out eventually and have me transferred to Slytherin. That or I’ll leave Hogwarts. Who _I_ am hasn’t changed.”

“I’ll wait here with you until he comes,” Susan said.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. “Why would you do that?”

“In case he doesn’t come.”

Susan sounded matter-of-fact, but it wasn’t a fact Draco was prepared to accept. There was no way. There was just no way it would come to that.

“It’s not like you’d be able to go back to Hogwarts now,” she continued. “You can come back to my house and sleep on the couch for the night, and then you can owl your parents to demand to know why they haven’t come to pick you up. I’m sure my aunt won’t mind.”

Draco had nothing to say to that. He supposed this was the _friendship_ that the others had been so forceful about. But he wouldn’t call himself Susan’s friend; she was wasting her time. Still, without his father or mother or any of their house-elves around, Draco didn’t have any options. He could sleep at the station and do underage magic if need be—oh, if he was arrested, would he be expelled? Yes, but they would probably strip him of his wand too, and that wouldn’t do. A couch in the home of a Hufflepuff was preferable to sleeping at the station with no magic to help him.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll wait and see if they arrive.”

Embarrassed, Draco tailed after Susan as they made their way through the crowd to Susan’s aunt Amelia. She was a regal-looking woman with a monocle and the Ministry insignia on her robes—Draco didn’t want to trust her, but he instantly felt that he could.

“One of your friends, Susan?”

“I don’t know if he’ll let me call him that,” Susan said, laughing. “Auntie, this is Draco Malfoy. His parents haven’t come to pick him up, so I wonder if he could stay the night with us? Just until he can get in touch with his parents.”

Amelia’s scrutiny was more fearsome than any of the Professors at Hogwarts. “I’ve heard about you,” she said.

“Of course you have,” Draco said. He racked his brains for anything his father might’ve said about the Boneses, but nothing came up. “I’m a Malfoy.”

“Indeed you are.” Amelia leant down and put a hand on his shoulder. “Draco, are you quite certain you’ll be welcome home these holidays?”

“I don’t see why I wouldn’t be.”

For a terrifyingly long moment, Amelia was silent. Did her monocle have magical properties? It was like she could see right through Draco. Staying with her over the holidays suddenly seemed like a very, very bad idea. But then she said, “Any friend of Susan’s is always welcome in my home. We’ll write to your parents after a nice, warm dinner. How does that sound?”

Susan nudged him. “It sounds great, doesn’t it, Draco?”

“Yes,” he said. It sounded better than nothing.

 

* * *

 

It was Christmas day, and Draco was still at Amelia Bones’ house.

Amelia lived alone in a London terrace near the Ministry, where she was head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She was a highly decorated Auror—Susan had shown Draco all her medals while Amelia was at the shops for the butter she needed to make her shortbread biscuits. When he wasn’t looking around the house or helping Amelia bake, Draco spent his days at the antique writing desk drafting letters to his parents. He had sent none of them.

He had thought he might expect something on Christmas day, though. He sat on the balcony overlooking the mews and watched the cloudy skies for any sight of an owl, but none came.

Susan’s parents sent her parcels. They worked overseas doing work that Susan and Amelia weren’t allowed to talk about, and this year they were in Italy. They sent Susan a fine set of dress robes in periwinkle blue cotton, a necklace overflowing with colourful Murano glass beads, and a hand-bound notebook with marbled pages. Draco was viciously jealous—all he’d been given was a scarf, from Amelia, and he knew that was only pity on her part.

After a filling lunch—definitely a better present than the scarf—Amelia had retired to her study, and Draco returned to the balcony. It was a small space, barely enough for him to sit comfortably with his legs tucked up to his chest, and the air was bitingly cold, which at least numbed Draco to the various things that were paining him; sore legs, emotional torment, and all that.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out there when Susan came by, tapping him on the shoulder. “You’re not wearing your scarf.”

“Oh, no,” Draco said flatly. “How silly of me.”

Susan sat down next to him, squishing into what little space there was. “I know how hard it is for you, so—”

“No, you don’t. You’re—”

 _Right where you belong_ , Draco didn’t say. While he had been sorted into the wrong house, and was spending Christmas in the wrong home. How could Susan ever understand that?

“I got you a present,” she said. It was a book, unwrapped. “I stole it from my auntie’s study. She’s got so many, I don’t think she’ll miss it.”

Draco took the book; his fingers itched to throw it off the balcony, but he was not so far gone he’d forgotten his manners. It was an old-looking book, though not as old anything in the library in Malfoy Manor nor anywhere near as well cared-for. The spine was almost worn through, and the gold lettering on the cover had faded to specks, so Draco could only find the title by opening to the inside cover. On the left, _Ex Libris Amelia S. Bones_ , and on the right, _A Modern and Practical Guide to Hexes_.

“Modern,” he scoffed. “When was this modern?”

“Don’t laugh,” Susan said. “Auntie says the Aurors have used the same spells since the eighteenth century, tried and tested. If you learnt all the hexes in this book, you’d be as good as any Auror.”

Draco stared at the title for a very long time. At last he managed to say, “Thank you.”

“Let’s go inside, yeah? I think there’s still some shortbread left. And we can sneak some of auntie’s mead while she’s not in the room.”

Susan stood and, reluctantly, Draco followed. “Won’t she notice?”

“Yeah, if you have enough to get drunk,” Susan said, laughing. She went abruptly serious. “Draco. It’s no fun being alone all the time. _I_ don’t mind if you want to spend the rest of the holidays on the balcony, but you’re going to go mental if you don’t talk to anyone.”

On some level he suspected she was right, but he wasn’t going to give her the pleasure of pointing that out. It was warm inside; Draco knew there would be no owl for him today, and he’d never tried mead before. This was still his worst Christmas ever—that didn’t mean he had to let it be a bad one.

 

* * *

 

Hogwarts was a welcome sight after Christmas with the Boneses. Not that Draco hadn't enjoyed himself—at some length, he had—but he had also felt very distinctly out of place. He’d expected to feel out of place at Hogwarts, too. After all, he had been sorted into the wrong house. But there must have been something for him. Why else did he feel like this?

As he got off the Hogwarts Express, he ran through the crowd—it would do no good for him to be seen with Susan, who had been his companion for the journey. Draco heard her calling to Ernie; if Ernie saw him with Susan, it wouldn’t ruin his reputation, but it might convince Ernie that they were friends. Draco didn’t want anyone getting the wrong impression, and he didn’t want to spoil this for himself. Somehow, he was happy to be back.

His good mood turned out to be a premonition. Back in his dorm, he pulled back the curtains on his bed and found a broom-shaped package lying there. There was a card sitting atop it with the Malfoy insignia stamped across it in glistening green wax. Draco’s heart leapt with fondness—he had grown up with the colour green all around him, and he had thought it would follow him to Hogwarts. He’d heard that the Slytherin common room was by the lake, lit up green by the light filtered through the water. Seeing that small speck of colour was like a light in a dim dungeon.

Zacharias brought him out of his reverie. “Oh, you found your present.”

“Have you been snooping around my things?” Draco said accusingly. He hadn’t even noticed Zacharias was there.

“I have not! It came by owl on Christmas day—I don’t know how the owl didn’t find you at home, someone must have deliberately told it to come to the Hufflepuff table. You weren’t there, but I saw your name, so I took it to keep it safe. Someone had to.”

Suspicious. Zacharias was consistently the top of the class in their flying lessons; could it be that he’d taken the obviously broom-shaped parcel because he wanted it for himself? But he’d put it on Draco’s bed. Then… he’d done it out of kindness alone?

“Thank you,” Draco said. He wasn’t sure if he meant it.

Zacharias made a rude gesture in response, and the world tilted back onto its axis.

Draco ripped into the packaging, and there it was—a brand new Nimbus 2000. He’d been eyeing it in a copy of Quidditch Quarterly that Amelia Bones had lying around her living room. She was an avid supporter of the Falmouth Falcons, who were also Draco’s team, although he hadn’t told her that. She would likely be able to guess—Falmouth were the establishment team. Draco sometimes daydreamt about playing Quidditch professionally. It was just one of his many skills.

It was only after he’d spent about ten minutes gazing longingly at the broomstick that he noticed what was written on the card, in his mother’s hand: _Whatever happens, you are still my son_.

“Is it a good broom?” Zacharias asked.

Draco shook his head; there might’ve been something in his eye. “The best.”

It was more than a broom. It was a sign. Draco’s mother knew about the letter his father had sent him—she simply must have. His parents hadn’t forgotten about him, far from it. They had given him the holiday to think about it, and now they were giving him a second chance. They wanted him to come home.

And Draco knew exactly how he was going to do it.

 

* * *

 

“I have convened this emergency meeting of the Draco Malfoy Escape Council,” Draco said, “because there has been a development. With the recent acquisition of a Nimbus 2000 racing broom, my escape from Hogwarts will be swifter and more exciting than you could ever imagine.”

“Want to hear what I’m imagining?” Zacharias asked.

They were sitting in an alcove in one of the courtyards near the Hufflepuff dormitories. It was a quiet, windy day, and Draco’s scarf was being blown about, but he didn’t mind. It meant that there was no-one around to eavesdrop.

“Get on with it, then,” he said.

“It’s very dramatic,” Zacharias said. “While everyone’s in class, you get your broom and sneak out onto the lawn, and then you hitch your luggage over your broomstick and take off into the air, flying away with no obstacles.”

“You’re such a spoilsport. No, it’s going to be spectacular. I want everyone to know that I’m the boy who escaped Hogwarts and got away with it.”

“If you could pull that off, it would be—”

“Impossible!”

Both boys looked up sharply. Susan was standing there with her arms folded, grinning.

Draco sprung to his feet, pointing a finger at her. “How much did you hear?”

“I heard you whispering at breakfast,” she said. “You’re planning to run away, aren’t you?”

“Let me guess,” Draco said, “you’re here to be a stick in the mud and tell me how Dumbledore isn’t going to let me leave and how I’d be better to stay at Hogwarts, anyway. I’ve heard it all before.”

Susan smiled almost shyly. “Actually, I was thinking… it sounded like a lot of fun. Is Zach helping you? Maybe I could help too.”

“None of your business,” Draco said, at the same time as Zacharias said, “Yeah, I’m helping him.”

Draco glared at Zacharias. Traitor.

“Think about it this way,” Zacharias said placatingly, “Susan might not be as good at flying or distracting magic as we are, but she’s very good at sneaking up on you.”

“You’ve noticed that too?” Draco cleared his throat. “I mean—Smith, don’t be stupid. Everyone knows that the more people there are, the harder it is for them to sneak around. And—” he lowered his voice, “—we don’t need a _girl_ on the Council.”

“What’s wrong with girls?” Zacharias said, returning Draco’s whispered tone. “Girls know all sorts of things boys don’t.”

“Like what?”

“Er, if there are any secret passages out of the girls’ toilets… ?”

“Why would I sneak out of the girls’ toilets? I’m a boy!”

“You know, I can hear you,” Susan said. “It’s good that you’re talking about sneaking out, though.”

Draco didn’t want her advice, but… “Why?”

“Before, you were talking about making some kind of spectacle. But what if that goes wrong? Sure, you’ll be famous, but for all the wrong reasons. People will laugh at you for trying to escape and failing.”

“For the third time,” Zacharias added.

“The third—” Susan bit back a laugh. “Was there another attempt after you tried to fly away that time?”

“We’re not talking about it,” Draco said. “We’re here to plan the next one. Which is going to be spectacular, no matter what you say.”

Zacharias prodded him in the arm. “You still haven’t told us what it is.”

Draco sighed. Susan was looking at him expectantly too, so he supposed she was a member of the Draco Malfoy Escape Council now. He could have done a lot worse—at least she wasn’t a mudblood. Coming from a family like hers, she ought to be sympathetic to his plight.

“Fine. This is how I see it: I wait until it’s lunch time, with everyone out on the lawn, and then I make my way up to the Astronomy Tower with my broomstick and my suitcase. You two will flank me, duelling anyone who gets in my way. I’ve been reading up on hexes, so I can teach you. Then, once I’m up there, I’ll have my suitcase tethered to my broomstick and I’ll climb onto it, and hover out over the lawn where everyone is eating. From up high, I’ll amplify my voice, and I’ll give an official speech to explain why I’m—why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry,” Susan said, “it’s just so—”

“It’s perfect,” Zacharias said quickly, “really perfect. We’ll be happy to flank you, won’t we, Susan?”

“Absolutely! In fact, I’m really looking forward to it!”

At the time, Draco wondered if they weren’t being entirely sincere. He reminded himself that they had agreed to help him, and that was all that matters. But later, as he was passing through the common room, he heard Susan whisper to Zacharias, “I feel sorry for Draco,” and Zacharias said to her, “I like him some of the time, but I still sort of want to see the last of him.”

Draco didn’t wait around to hear what Susan had to say to that. He wanted to see the last of Hogwarts. He wanted them to see the last of him. So why did he feel so bad about it?

 

* * *

 

It was a sunny day towards the end of winter; there was snow glistening on the lawns and a crispness to the air, but the sky was clear. It was the perfect backdrop to Draco’s dramatic escape.

The Draco Malfoy Escape Council met for one last time by the boys’ bathrooms on the sixth floor. They couldn’t actually meet _in_ the bathrooms with Susan on the Council. Nevertheless, Draco wanted Susan to know that her position on the Council was tenuous, on account of her being a girl, so he thought that outside the bathrooms was a good location to get that message across. It was the cunning of a Slytherin, not the cowardice of a Hufflepuff, or whatever their house values were meant to be.

“I’m sure you’re both looking forward to this as much as I am,” he said. Susan shook her head a little too convincingly, and Zacharias shrugged. Draco continued: “Today will go down in Hogwarts history. They’ll ask questions about me on tests.”

“Will I get bonus marks for talking about what a windbag you are?” Zacharias said.

“You will instantly fail,” Draco said. “Now, are you ready to duel anyone who gets in my way?”

Fortunately for Zacharias and Susan, who did not seem all too keen on the duelling, nobody was around as they made their way to the Astronomy Tower. The path was clear up ahead, just like the journey from wherever Hogwarts might be to Malfoy Manor, which Draco had spent last night roughly plotting onto a map.

They reached the Astronomy Tower staircase. “Should we leave you here?” Zacharias asked.

“Better not,” Draco said. “If someone tries to stop me while I’m up in the Tower, I’ll need you two to duel them.”

But as soon as Draco looked ahead, there was no-one but him. This was it. He’d made it. He strode triumphantly up the staircase and flung open the door. The sun was blisteringly bright. For a moment, Draco couldn’t see anything at all. When his eyes adjusted, his vision was filled with brilliant blue, and a tall shadow blocking a stripe of sky right in front of him.

The shadow resolved itself into a form Draco had only seen from a distance—Professor Dumbledore.

“Oh, hello,” the Headmaster said. “I wasn’t expecting to see students up here.”

“We’re not here,” Draco said quickly, tripping over his own words. “I mean, we’re lost, we don’t know where we are.”

Professor Dumbledore smiled benignly. “On the contrary, I think you know exactly where you are, Draco. I wonder if your friends aren’t lost, though.”

“They’re not my friends.”

“No,” Zacharias piped up from behind him, “we’re not his friends.”

“Be that as it may,” Professor Dumbledore said, “you are all in the wrong place at the wrong time, as the saying goes. Are you aware that the Astronomy Tower is off limits to students outside of class hours, or without the express supervision of a teacher?”

Of course Draco knew that, but that wasn’t the point. Anyway, what did it matter if he was breaking rules? He was going to escape before he had the chance to get punished for it.

That didn’t look likely to happen today.

“Yes, we knew that,” Susan said. “Sorry, Professor. We really did get lost.”

“So I gather. That would explain why Draco has his suitcase, and a very fine broomstick.”

Alright. Time to try something different. “Stand aside, Professor!” Draco said, holding his broomstick out in front of him. “I’m leaving Hogwarts.”

“I understand that you feel some dismay about breaking your family’s long tradition, but the Sorting Hat is very seldom wrong.”

Draco clutched his broomstick tighter. “Well, it was wrong about me, and I’m leaving. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

The Professor sighed. “In the long run, that may well be the case. But I’m afraid that today isn’t your day. I have to give you and your friends detention for breaking a school rule.”

There was something about Professor Dumbledore that made it impossible for Draco to argue with him. He looked over his shoulder; Susan gave him an apologetic smile. Zacharias hadn’t run away this time, which was a definite improvement, but he had clearly given up.

“Smith and Bones are only here because I—I tricked them into it! Like a Slytherin would do!” At the Professor’s unimpressed expression, Draco tried, “Won’t you just expel me, Professor?”

“Oh, I think not,” Professor Dumbledore said. “I will arrange your detentions with Professor Sprout. Now, it’s a lovely day… why don’t the three of you go and enjoy your lunch by the lake?”

Professor Dumbledore waited there until he was certain Draco, Zacharias, and Susan had left, and then he stayed there to make sure that they didn’t come back. This didn’t need to be the end, but it felt like defeat. Now that the Headmaster knew what Draco was trying to do, he certainly wouldn’t let him go without a fight.

Draco didn’t want to accept his fate so easily, but for now he was tired of fighting.

 

* * *

 

“Back so soon, Draco?”

He didn’t reply. This was his third detention of the week; Zacharias and Susan had already served their two. Professor Sprout had set them all the same lines: _I will not go up to the Astronomy Tower without a teacher present_. It was the greatest embarrassment yet—Draco wasn’t even being punished for the rules he’d been trying to break.

“You know, I’m impressed.” Professor Sprout was chatting away genially as though she were talking to another teacher. “I’ve never seen one student in detention so many times for the exact same thing. Third time lucky—I do hope you’ve learnt your lesson by now?”

What had Draco learnt? He had learnt that Hogwarts really was impenetrable, both from the inside and out. He’d learnt that trying to be the person he was meant to be was an exercise in futility. Maybe the Sorting Hat was right—he was nasty, and he would have been even nastier in Slytherin. But he would have been _happy_. Wasn’t that more important?

“On the other hand, your tenacity is quite incredible. Even after failing twice, you were so dedicated to leaving Hogwarts that you worked hard and tried again. That takes some dedication. And although I know you don’t want to be in Hufflepuff, you’ve managed to make two good friends already. The fact that you were all so willing to rely on each other is a credit to you all.”

Draco scratched his lines into his parchment. _I will not go up to the Astronomy Tower without a teacher present, I will not go up to the Astronomy Tower without a teacher present, I will not try to run away, I will not_ —

“In fact,” Professor Sprout said, “determination, hard work, and loyalty are all qualities we find commendable here in Hufflepuff.”

Draco’s neck snapped up dizzyingly fast.

“I’d say you fit right in.” Professor Sprout smiled at him. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I’ve finished my lines,” Draco said.

“Well done. I don’t think you need to do any more detentions for your trip up to the Astronomy Tower. Don’t come back tomorrow night—I won’t tell Dumbledore. It’ll be our secret.”

Draco stood to hand the Professor his parchment, and he stood for a long time, staring her down. “You really think I’m… one of you?”

“I can understand your confusion,” she said. “Hufflepuff isn’t like the other houses—the founders of Hogwarts all had very different ideas about what constituted the ideal student. But Helga Hufflepuff believed that a truly good school would teach anyone, no matter what, and instill in them the values that made a good student. You’re here to become the best version of yourself that you can possibly be. That’s why we go to school—to learn our spells and our history, yes, but more than that, to grow. Do you think you’re ready to grow with us, Draco?”

“I can’t be one of _the rest_ ,” he said. “I was meant to be in Slytherin.”

Professor Sprout gave him a patient smile. “And yet here you are. You might as well make the most of it. Why don’t you go back to the common room and apologise to your friends for getting them in trouble?”

Draco’s instinct was to say that they weren’t really his friends, but he knew that would be a lie. Zacharias and Susan could have hidden and left him to face Dumbledore alone. Instead, they had stood by him, and stood up for him, and that was what friends did. He thought about how it had felt to sit at the Slytherin table with Crabbe and Goyle ignoring him. Draco’s Hufflepuff housemates would never have let that happen. It wasn’t what he had expected, and it certainly wasn’t the best version of himself he could be, but here he was. Like his Head of House said—he might as well make the most of it.

Staying at Hogwarts wouldn’t be so bad. He might even learn something.

After thanking Professor Sprout for cutting his detentions short, Draco made his way back to the Hufflepuff common room— _his_ common room. Zacharias and Susan were sitting up the back playing with a chess set, the board made of ebony and mother of pearl set into wood, and the pieces cut from precious stones.

“What is this?” Draco demanded. “ _Muggle_ chess? Where are the explosions?”

“Muggle chess is way better than normal chess,” Susan said. “See, you don’t have anything to distract you. You have to think way harder about what you’re doing.”

“And if you’re good at it, your friends hate you for it,” Zacharias added. He reached for Susan’s last bishop on the board, and grinned as she slapped his hand away. “Detention’s over already?”

“That was my last one.”

“Unless you try to escape again,” Susan said.

Draco pulled up a chair beside their chess table and sat down in it, arms folded. “I don’t think I’ll be trying that again, actually.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

Zacharias reached for Susan’s bishop while she was distracted and surreptitiously placed it to one side of the board. “Aw, are you scared of Dumbledore?” he said.

“Everyone should be scared of Dumbledore,” Susan said.

Draco shook his head. “It’s not that. I just think… staying here might not be so bad after all.”

By “here,” Draco meant Hogwarts. Then Susan cheered, clapping her hands like a seal, and Zacharias slapped him on the shoulder, and Draco felt the first seeds of a feeling starting to grow—that maybe in time, “here” would mean Hufflepuff too.

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to carole for beta reading!
> 
> i've been working on this on-and-off for about eight months, so i'm glad to have finally finished it. i was rereading PS, and when draco said he'd leave if he were sorted into hufflepuff, i knew instantly that i had to write a fic where he was sorted into hufflepuff and tried to escape in increasingly elaborate ways. since then, my headcanons have expanded, and now this fic is the first part of a series that chronicles huffledraco's time at hogwarts and possibly beyond. i've got a lot planned & a little bit written, so if you're keen for updates you can subscribe to the series! until then, please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts :)


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